Have You Seen The Big White Dog?
The Dog in the Hallways
The Big White Dog roams the hallways after hours, paws clicking on the concrete. Have you seen it? It moves through spaces that should be empty, through corridors that echo with the residue of prior presences.
We are the presence of static
We crackle.
We are errant sound,
We are a signal that interferes.
These small disruptions—the hiss and fracture that sit between frequencies—are the material evidence of haunting: the audible residue of prior transmissions, past uses, and forgotten intentions embedded in the architecture. Each layer of the building carries its own interference.
Critical Hauntings
The reverb of studio air.
The faint pressure of a speaker that once shook the walls.
KDZU reads these disturbances as critical hauntings, where the signal of the present is cross-contaminated by the ghosts of its own history. The Big White Dog is one such ghost—not a spectral apparition, but a residual presence, a form that persists through repetition, through the architecture's memory of what once was.
How the Dog Fits
The dog is static. The dog is crackle. The dog is the errant signal that misbehaves—the presence that shouldn't be there but is, the sound between frequencies, the form that appears in the corner of vision, the paw-click on concrete that carries the weight of prior transmissions.
- Architectural Memory: The dog is the building remembering. Each hallway it walks carries the echo of footsteps that came before, the audible residue of past uses.
- Signal Contamination: Just as static cross-contaminates frequencies, the dog cross-contaminates time. It exists in the present but carries the past, its white form a carrier wave for forgotten intentions.
- Material Evidence: The clicking paws are not spectral—they are material evidence of haunting, as real as the hum of old wiring, as present as the reverb in studio air.
Each layer of the building carries its own interference.
The dog is one such layer.
Have you seen it?
The Reef Investigation
In KDZU's investigation of The Reef, the building itself becomes a transmitter of hauntology. The static and crackle are not errors to be eliminated—they are critical evidence of how architecture remembers, how spaces carry forward the traces of what they once contained.
The Big White Dog is part of this investigation. It is the audible residue made visible, the errant signal given form. When you hear its paws clicking on concrete after hours, you are hearing the building's memory—the faint pressure of a speaker that once shook the walls, the reverb of studio air, the hum of old wiring, all condensed into a form that walks.
where the signal of the present
is cross-contaminated by the ghosts of its own history.
The dog doesn't haunt in the traditional sense. It haunts as static haunts—not as interruption, but as evidence. Not as error, but as material truth. The clicking paws are the crackle between frequencies, the hiss that sits between signals, the form that persists because architecture remembers.
Have You Seen It?
The Big White Dog roams the hallways after hours. Its presence is a question: Have you seen it? But more than that, it is an invitation to listen—to hear the static, to recognize the crackle, to understand that what appears as errant sound is actually the building speaking, the architecture transmitting its own history.
These small disruptions are the material evidence of haunting:
the audible residue of prior transmissions,
past uses, and forgotten intentions
embedded in the architecture.
When you connect to this network, you are entering The Reef. You are entering a space where hauntology is active, where the present signal is cross-contaminated by history, where static and crackle are not errors but critical hauntings. The Big White Dog may be here too, its paws clicking in the digital space, its form a carrier wave for the building's memory.
Listen for the click of paws on concrete.
Listen for the static between frequencies.
Have you seen the Big White Dog?